


τριάντα εφτά

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [83]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Birthday, Existing Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Implied Smut, NSFW, Nipple Play, Snuggling, Teasing, birting, smutty snuggling, surprise, the red nose diaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-03-26 08:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13854144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: The Olympics may be over, but the games never end.





	1. The Games

**Author's Note:**

> A belated Olympics and Tom's birthday fic. I would have posted this in one part but I always get stuck on (spoiler alert) the smutty goodness.
> 
> And yes, the title is "thirty seven" in Greek, a nod to the Olympic theme. Or it's supposed to be, according to Google Translate.

It was early on the morning of Tom’s 37th birthday, and Carmen lay in bed curled up beside him, watching him sleep. He breathed, deeply and evenly, and when he exhaled his lips would make this smacking noise that drove Carmen just a little bit crazy. She reached out to trace with her fingertips the contours of his mouth, his nose, the scratchy underside of his bearded jaw.

_ “Wake up.” _

Tom slept on.

_ “Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup.” _

Still, he slept.

_ “Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup.” _

Nothing.

“Tom.”

Silence.

“Baby.”

Tom’s nose twitched. Carmen smiled.

“You’re awake.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

A stifled yawn, blue eyes still shut. “Still asleep.”

“You have to wake up.”

Tom frowned at the ceiling. “Why?”

“It’s your day, love.”

“Oh.” He dragged his hand down his face, idly scratching his beard as he did so. “Right.”

“Happy birthday.”

She leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, chuckling when she saw his eyes flutter open.

Tom turned to kiss her upon the lips, cupping her jaw with his hand as he did so. “Thank you.”

Lips still pressed to his, she whispered: “I love you.”

Tom smirked. “Okay what are you up to?”

And now Carmen was frowning. “What do you mean what am I up to?”

Tom slipped his hand down from Carmen’s cheek to rest on the side of her neck. “You are up to something.”

“What makes you say that?”

“First of all, you’re up before me.”

Carmen scoffed. “Only just.”

“You’re never up this early.”

“I am too!”

“Only two reasons for you to be up this early,” replied Tom, waving his index finger in the air. “Early flights.”

Carmen lunged for his hand, attempting to bite his fingertips, and it made Tom laugh.

“Early flights,” he continued. He held up a second finger. “Shenanigans.”

“Shenanigans? What?!” Carmen scoffed again, rolled her eyes, even gave him the stink eye.  _ “Please.” _

“Do you have a flight to catch?” Tom asked.

“You know I don’t,” Carmen retorted.

“So it’s shenanigans.” Tom took a breath and then all of a sudden he had rolled over onto Carmen. He nipped at the tip of her nose, laughing when she squirmed with pleasure, going on between planting kisses on her face. “Shenanigans… nonsense… monkey business… rascality.” He kissed her deeply, tasting her lips and inhaling her skin and he cradled her face in his hands and in the act of taking her breath away he somehow lost his own. “Mischief.”

“Mischief, my ass.”

Carmen’s smirk was promptly kissed off her face, transformed into a supplicant pout, by an ardent Tom.

“A scavenger hunt?” Tom guessed as he began to trail kisses down her neck, sliding his naked body slowly, torturously, along her own naked body.

“No,” she murmured.

“One of those escape rooms?” He nuzzled the base of her throat, growling when she arched her back in order to press against him better.

“No,” Carmen moaned.

Tom lifted his head, considering the warm breast and its peaked nipple that lingered just below his lips. “Oh.”

“Oh what?” She grinned sleepily.

“I’ve got it,” Tom said. “It’s something to do with the Olympics, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Carmen said, a little too dimly.

“It’s just…” Tom flicked his tongue out, just licking at her nipple. “Opening ceremony is today.” He kissed her breast, letting his lips linger while he thought some more. “We don’t seem to have any firm plans for tonight…”

“You…” Carmen whimpered when he began to suck at her breast in earnest. “You said you wanted to keep it low key this year.”

“As if you were listening to anything I said.” Tom resumed his teasing, sucking harder.

_ “Tom.” _ Carmen’s voice was faint, weak.

“Hmm?”

“I… I was listening,” she insisted.

“Yes, but…” He delicately pinched the nipple between his teeth. “You never intended to  _ obey _ . _ ” _

Staring at the ceiling, Carmen found the nape of his neck with her hands. She played with the curls, and squeezed her eyes shut when the breast Tom wasn’t sucking was now being teased with his free hand.

_ “No.” _ She squeezed her eyes shut and moaned.  _ “Never.” _

* * *

It was a quiet birthday so far.

Too quiet, Tom thought to himself as he prepared to take Bobby for a midday walk. For Carmen, despite the fact that it was his birthday and that, as the birthday boy, he should get whatever he desired, and what he desired was to spend the day in bed with her, went into the office. She would not be home until supper.

Or so she claimed.

Tom had tried to trick her into telling him the truth, first by peppering her with questions as they showered together. Then by insisting on dressing her for work. She picked out her own clothes, of course, but he put it all on, leaving little kisses as he went. The swell of her left hip when he tugged on her knickers. Between her shoulder blades after clasping together the band of her bra. Along her bare arms as he pulled up the sleeves of one of her many white blouses. Despite his best efforts to get her to reveal her plans as well as to keep her home and in bed with him, Carmen headed out the door after kissing him and the dog goodbye.

Tom put on his dog walking uniform — t-shirt hoodie jeans boots peacoat cap — then got the dog into his own jacket, harness, and lead. As ever, Bobby knew he looked smarter than Tom did. Tom would have sworn that the little spaniel actually strutted to the car, preened in the back seat on the short drive to the park, and took to prancing his way all the way up to Parliament Hill.

There were other dog walkers, tourists, hikers, and runners up there. Turning up their collars against the brisk wind, precious few of his fellow park goers lingered beyond the time it took to take a deep breath, consider the expansive view of the London skyline, then leave for shelter and perhaps a cup of tea. Bobby, who had been happy to loll on the grass at his feet, sprung up and began to tug at the lead.

“Hey! What’s gotten into you…” Tom laughed at the little dog as he scrambled, then followed good naturedly down a little slope where all of a sudden they were met by… Tom.

Or, rather, someone dressed exactly like Tom. Hoodie jacket peacoat jeans boots, even a matching baseball cap. This Tom was calling Bobby’s name, offering treats before removing their hat to reveal not Tom but Carmen.

“Shenanigans,” he muttered into her cheek after he pulled her into his arms. I knew you were up to something…”

“Shenanigans?” Carmen wrinkled her nose up at Tom when he pulled her in for a kiss. “Hardly,” she said, peering at him slyly. “Just a simple surprise. I left work early. Figured I could take you out for lunch.”

“And after lunch?” Tom whispered.

Carmen looked up at him, chewing on her bottom lip. “We’ll see.”

When she took his hand in hers for the walk down the hill, she was startled by how cold it was.

“You forgot your gloves,” Carmen said as she ran her thumb over the reddened knuckles. “What would Mo Farah say, I wonder.”

“He’d ask how my 5k time was coming along,” Tom grumbled. “Or more like he’d be running by too fast to say anything at all!”

“I don’t know about that.” Carmen stopped, standing her ground when Tom tried to pull her along.

“You don’t, huh?” He asked. 

Carmen reached into her coat pocket, and withdrew a white envelope which she then presented to him. Tom took it from her, glancing first and then looking again when he saw his name written upon it in an unfamiliar hand.

“What’s this?’ Tom asked, glancing up to find a curious smile on Carmen’s face.

“Open it, Tom.”

So Tom did as he was told, his face turning bright red as it broke into a smile so wide it hurt his face to do so. But he didn’t care. For in his hand he held a handwritten note, a brief but warm wish for a good and happy birthday, from none other than Mo Farah himself.


	2. The Victors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Tom celebrates his birthday with friends, Carmen goes for cocoa and a think.

When it came time to plan Tom’s thirty seventh birthday surprise, Carmen became stuck. She hadn’t meant for it to happen. The sticking, getting stuck on what to plan, what to do, what to give. She didn’t anticipate that she would, taking for granted how well she knew him, but still she did.

Because no matter what Carmen did, nothing she could conjure could possibly measure up to [ TomVent ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9638924) , the nine day long series of mini-surprises she had orchestrated for Tom’s thirty sixth birthday the previous year. There had been flowers and special breakfasts at home, karaoke and model boats. A cake topped with a still from _Heat_ , one of Tom’s favorite movies, to go with [ the cake that celebrated his _GQ_ cover ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642218).

There had been sex.

Lots of sex.

Lots and lots of sex.

2017 Carmen had been full of ideas and energy, eager to make up for the time they lost in 2016. How was 2018 Carmen going to beat that?

With sex. Lots of sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Sex without protection, without hesitation, without restraint.

Okay, maybe a  _actual_ restraints.

But there was something else. There had to be something else.

Now, there was the lovely note and invitation for a run from none other but Mo Farah himself. Carmen had to admit she was ecstatic to have pulled that off (with a little assist from Luke, who provided the introduction to Mo’s team, of course). The private pub luncheon with Tom’s closest friends, pints and pies and whiling away the afternoon until they were expected at home, had been orchestrated by Patrick.

It was after she surprised Tom and Bobby at the park, when Carmen was driving them to the pub while Tom sat in the passenger seat exclaiming over his note. She pulled up to the kerb outside the address Patrick had texted her, where Patrick and Ben and the lot were gathered to welcome a genuinely surprised Tom to his own birthday party. A note, and a day party. Peering at Tom through the car window, Carmen saw that he looked joyful. She smiled, but still she wondered.

Was it enough? What else did she have left to give?

It was after Carmen had driven away, leaving Tom with his friends, Bobby wriggling in the back seat and still whining that he didn’t get to remain with his master. She’d driven home, parked and was about to take the dog into the house when Bobby, in a rare fit of stubbornness, refused to follow her in. Instead, he stamped his feet and snorted, pulling away when Carmen crouched down low to begin the process of removing his harness.

“Do you want..?” Before she could say the magic word, Bobby was scampering to the gate. Pawing at it and looking back at her for approval.

“A walk,” she said to herself, just as she took up his lead and let them out onto the street. “As if I could ever refuse you.”

Carmen watched the ground in front of her, smiling at the dog as he skipped and sniffed every little thing they came across. When Bobby stopped to favor a curbside tree with a lift of his little leg, Carmen noticed he had picked almost the exact spot where, [on her last birthday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229585), she had given Tom a gift.

> _“It’s your birthstone.” Tom took a step forward, cupping her hands in his. “I know you don’t wear much in the way of jewelry.” His smiled at her. “Just those pearl earrings, your late father’s watch sometimes. And the button.” He smiled at the sterling silver button that hung around her neck._
> 
> _“I love the button,” she whispered. “Thank you.”_
> 
> _“You’re welcome.” He closed his hands around hers. “And this ring… I know we were engaged. Before.” Tom shook his head. “And then we weren’t.”_
> 
> _Carmen nodded and while her eyes filled with tears, they did not leave his face._
> 
> _“So I thought, when you came back, that it was more than I could have hoped for. Certainly more than I deserved.”_
> 
> _“Tom, this isn’t about deserving. I just…” She shrugged. “I just love you.”_
> 
> _“But I need to make it up…”_
> 
> _“Stop it, Tom,” Carmen said fiercely. “I don’t want you to feel bad about this. Not anymore. If there’s anything you deserve, it’s to move on. We both deserve that.”_
> 
> _“And I’m so grateful.”_
> 
> _“Okay, but Tom?” Carmen searched his face. “Stop it.”_
> 
> _“What?” Tom asked._
> 
> _“Stop being grateful. Stop acting like it’s your dumb luck we’re standing here, together, about to head home to the house that we share. Stop thinking I love you despite everything, that the love I give you is given begrudgingly, piecemeal, with reservation.” Carmen kissed his fingertips. “I don’t want you to think… not even for a second. Not even after… Because the way I love you… you have to know. Maybe I don’t show you enough. But it’s everything.” She peered up at his tear-streaked face. “I’m giving you everything.”_

She took a deep breath, looked at the ring he had given her that night. The promise. Another breath, and then a look at the other ring. The vow.

Carmen felt something flutter in her stomach, a tickle that made her laugh because it was just too perfect. For while she and Tom had agreed that they were not going to prevent a surprise pregnancy, the flutter was a rejoinder. A reminder. From her biological clock or from the universe, she couldn’t be sure. But the message was plain. _You want to have a baby. You are going to have a baby._

When Bobby tugged on his lead, Carmen snapped out of her reverie. She turned her face to the sky, scowling at nobody in particular, and shook her head.

“Stupid hormones,” she muttered.

Bobby rounded a familiar corner, tugging her as far the cafe. He sat while she secured his lead around the bike rack, then dashed inside to get them both something warm to drink.

Her takeaway cocoa took no time at all but for some reason the cup of whipped cream she had ordered for the dog required extra attention. The baristas refused to charge her, on account of the delay, so she put a tenner in their tip jar and refused to take it back. Carmen returned to find Bobby patiently enduring the attention of two young women who were stroking his ears and seemed to be on the verge of picking him up.

“Excuse me.” Carmen’s voice was low, but from the way their shoulders jerked she knew she had been heard.

“Oh!” One of the girls, all wide blue eyes and artfully mussed dirty blonde hair, whipped around and, upon seeing Carmen standing there, frowned. She got to her feet and pouted. “You’re not him,” she said.

Her friend blanched, her olive skin gone sallow under the gray light of the overcast sky. She nervously stroked her bangs, dyed silver in stark contrast to her flat black hair. “Sorry, we just thought…”

Carmen said nothing, instead waiting for the girls to step away from Bobby so she could get to him. Wary of their presence, she was brisk in unspooling his lead, efficient in the way that she retrieved the drinks and, without acknowledging them, walked away. Not all the way home, just down the block and then around to a quiet street where she could sit on an obliging garden wall and drink her drink and think her thoughts while Bobby wrecked his little paper cup of whipped cream.

“Do you want a baby brother or a baby sister?” Carmen asked. “Hmm?”

Bobby, having finished his treat, looked up at her as if to say, _“What I want is some more whipped cream, lady.”_

“I think you’d make an admirable big brother, Bobby.” Carmen picked the dog up, waiting for him settle before she wiped stray bits of dried cream from the fur around his mouth.

Bobby licked her open palm by way of reply.

“And I’d be a halfway decent mom, right?” Carmen pressed her face to his, only to pull back and laugh when Bobby licked her face. “I’m going to take that as a yes.” Setting him down, Carmen tossed their cups in a nearby bin and began the short walk towards home.

She was about to settle down in front of the television and hours of Olympic coverage when her phone buzzed with a message from Tom:

> _ <ur presence is required> _

Smirking at the display, Carmen texted back:

> **thought this was a boys thing - no girls allowed **]****
> 
> __<_ for u i shall make an exception _>_ _
> 
> ****[** whatever for **]****
> 
> __<_ patrick planned a bunch of games for ‘tomlympics’ _>_ _
> 
> ****[** sounds fun **]****
> 
> __<_ im getting annihilated _>_ _
> 
> ****[** as in drunk or ur losing **]****
> 
> __<_ both _>_ _
> 
> ****[** hahahahahahahaha **]****
> 
> ****[** sorry ur tennis skills dont translate to beer pong **]****
> 
> __<_ please button _>_ _
> 
> __<_ patrick says trivia is last and i could use the help _>_ _
> 
> ****[** didnt u go to cambridge **]****
> 
> __<_ yes but fat chance thats going to do with categories like ‘spice girls b-sides’ _>_ _
> 
> ****[** bwahahahahahahahahaha **]****
> 
> __<_ stop laughing and get down here _>_ _
> 
> ****[** fine **]****
> 
> __<_ really _>_ _
> 
> ****[** sure **]****
> 
> ****[** u know how much i love tipsy tom **]****
> 
> __<_ brat _>_ _
> 
> ****[** jerk **]****
> 
> ****[** luv u **]****
> 
> **[see u soon]**


	3. The Spoils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom claims his birthday reward.

The venue for Tom’s birthday luncheon was unremarkable. Ordinary, perhaps even shabby, to passersby who might expect something quaint or even precious. But it’s shabbiness was the reason why Patrick felt the it was ideal.

Because he just wanted a pub. A proper one, not a pub “concept” pop-ups run by a young chef looking to impress the affluent residents of this corner of town.

The Mouse and Bear was a real local. A dim tavern with hardwood floors that were could always do with a quick sweep of the broom. Its patrons were largely old men who were inclined to linger over the paper while sleepy dogs dreamt at their feet. The interior architecture had not been changed since the pub had opened, and so it featured a public bar that gave way to a slightly more refined saloon, and then just beyond that a proper snug.

And so it was in the snug that Tom and his friends drank away the afternoon, starting with cider before moving onto sour ales and then finally indulging in pint glasses of lager that left sticky circles on every available flat surface when set down. Fresh pies of mincemeat and pork, and heaping plates of chips followed by piping hot dishes of bread and butter pudding were laid out.

This was the “Tomlympics”. Instead of an Olympic torch, a preposterously tall chocolate cake with thirty seven candles was set in front of Tom. “Bastards!” He cried, shaking his head at the sight but he did so with a laugh. Closing his eyes, Tom leaned in and made a silent wish before blowing out the candles.

It had been a while since many of these men, who weren’t young anymore but weren’t exactly old either, had played games like pennies and fuzzy duck. They argued over the rules and then the rulings when outcomes were not favorable. Tom complained loudly after his losses but the penalties were not so severe. Just a few shots of good scotch which left behind drops of amber liquid shimmering in his beard. And while the venue and the company was casual, and he could relax, Tom did not get properly drunk. He preferred instead to maintain a steady, happy buzz. He wanted to remember everything about this warm and wonderful afternoon.

Ben was the first to go, offering apologies to the crowd as he fetched his coat and headed to the door. Tom caught up to him, offering a hug before Ben began to dress for outside. As he did, Tom looked at his phone, which showed pictures of his own sons.

“Little monsters,” said Ben, warmly, smiling at the mobile in Tom’s hands. “They’re wearing me out.”

“That’s what you get for waiting until the ripe old age of thirty nine to start a family,” Tom drawled, dodging Ben’s attempt at a punch. “Handsome lads.” He handed the phone back with a grin.

“That’s all Soph,” replied Ben. “I was not an adorable child.”

“Really?” Tom arched an eyebrow. “But Carmen says that sea otters are the cutest of the animal kingdom…”

“Git!” Ben tried to get Tom in a headlock. “Just you wait until you get a couple of your own.”

“Don’t think I’ll be waiting for much longer!”

Tom ducked, falling back a few steps and not quite realizing what he had just said. He came to a standstill when he found Ben looking at him in astonishment. And then he was engulfed in his friend’s arms.

“Oh my god. That’s amazing!” Ben released Tom from the hug only to grab him by the shoulders. “Well done! When did you find out? When is Carmen due? I didn’t know that you had been trying.”

The light in Tom’s eyes dimmed, but only just a little. His head dipped, and he smiled bashfully. “I’m sorry, but she’s not… we’re not…” He shook his head. “I’ve said too much, I reckon.”

Ben smiled warmly at his friend. Still, though, he pressed Tom. “What is it you’ve said, exactly?”

“How do you mean?” Tom asked, a bit too innocently.

“What is it that you are _not_ doing?”

“We’re not trying, precisely,” Tom tried to be careful.

“Out with it, Hiddleston.” Ben crossed his arms.

“You know, Cumberbatch,” muttered Tom.

Ben permitted himself a mischievous smile, his eyes sparkling. “So you’re _not_ trying to have a baby with your fiancée?”

“It’s more like…” Tom bit his lip. “We’re not actively trying to _prevent_ it.”

“Oh?” Ben’s brow was furrowed as he considered what Tom had just told him.

“We are just letting nature take its course.”

Ben nodded. “I see.”

“What do you think?” Tom asked.

“I think…”

Ben was interrupted by his phone as it rang from within his coat pocket. He fumbled a bit while retrieving it. “Yes?”

Tom nodded when Ben mouthed “I’m sorry” and made his exit. Just as he turned, ready to return to the others, he heard a dog barking and then saw the dog itself as it scrambled towards him.

It was Bobby, of course, tugging on his leash and pulling Carmen along. She let go, then watched as the little spaniel raced around Tom’s feet and leapt enthusiastically when Tom crouched down to pet him.

“And how’s my Tipsy Tom? Hmm?” Carmen asked, watching the two of them.

Tom got up, unfolding his long body even as he held Bobby in his arms. “Becoming less tipsy, actually.”

“Let’s get back to the party, then,” Carmen replied. She took him by the arm to lead him into the snug.

“No birthday kiss?” Tom pouted.

“You’re spoiled,” Carmen said, fondly. “I’ve already kissed you.”

“It’s my birthday,” Tom reminded her. “And you’re behind.”

“Behind?” Carmen’s nose wrinkled adorably.

“Behind.” Tom leaned in, kissing the tip of her nose. “I’m thirty seven.” He nuzzled her. “You owe me.” His lips skirted down to her mouth. “Thirty seven kisses.”

“And how many have you had so far?” Carmen whispered.

“Five,” said Tom, tartly.

“Tom, you wingnut!” Carmen laughed. “It’s been at least twenty today.”

“I don’t count the ones in the shower,” Tom said. “Or the ones while I was dressing you.”

“That’s a shame,” said Carmen. “I liked the one between my shoulder blades after you did up my bra.”

As Carmen tried to get him back into the snug, Tom shook his head. “Your balance is still outstanding, madame.”

Carmen smiled at Bobby, who squirmed adorably in Tom’s arms. “Bobby will cover me,” she sang, and slipped past Tom to join his friends for one last game.

* * *

Patrick drove them home.

He drove them home because when the afternoon came to an end, Carmen was as tipsy as Tom. Pink cheeked and fidgety, they sat in the back seat of the car with boxes of cake and meat pies. They were too worked up to drive themselves. For the final game, where Tom and Carmen faced off in trivia, had ended in a tie. A tie that Patrick refused to let them break.

“You can’t do that!” Tom yelled from the back seat. He was only a little consoled by Bobby, who was squeezed between him and Carmen, licking his hand.

“It’s not fair!” Carmen shouted.

Patrick ignored them. “My ruling is final.”

“But it can’t be!” Tom insisted.

“And it’s stupid, besides,” Carmen groused.

“It isn’t,” Patrick replied. “It happens all the time.”

“No it doesn’t!’ Tom whinged.

“And when it does it’s just so _dumb.”_ Carmen crossed her arms over her chest.

“A victory is a victory,” Patrick said, shrugging.

“But it wasn’t a victory…” Carmen spat, and then she and Tom yelled, as one: “IT WAS A TIE!’

“I would have thought a tie would be the ideal result,” replied Patrick.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Tom huffed.

Patrick looked at the rear view mirror, noting that in the back seat Tom and Carmen were pouting. “Because you’re in love?”

Carmen and Tom froze. They turned to look at each other, then looked at Patrick again. Incredulous, disbelieving. Until they fell upon each other, hysterical with laughter.

“I give up,” Patrick moaned.

“One more question!” Tom said excitedly.

 _“¡Otra! ¡Otra! ¡Otra! ¡Otra! ¡Otra!”_ Carmen clapped along as she chanted.

Instead of another question, and indulging their childishness, Patrick simply drove them home. He left the three of them standing just inside their front door and the car safely parked, waving off their entreaties before heading out to take a taxi back to the Mouse & Bear where his own car was still parked (and where he might have one last tipple) before going home himself.

On her head, Carmen wore a wreath made of fabric laurel leaves, ribbons falling into her eyes. She left it on, even as she peeled off her coat and kicked off her shoes. After she wriggled out of her jeans and tugged off her sweater, complaining that she felt hot, she padded into the kitchen to find something to eat. Tom followed her, after he let Bobby out into the garden.

Tom watched her, standing at the counter as she waited for her bread to toast. The wreath on her head was askew, and became more so as she maneuvered to take off her bra from under her tee shirt. The shirt was one of his, of course, and was so worn it was very nearly translucent. An old tee shirt, and with that black knickers that fit closely over her hips and just underneath her round tummy. Bare legs, and when Carmen rubbed her thighs together, Tom felt a pleasant warmth in his stomach.

They ate in the lounge, sitting on the sofa while watching but not really paying attention to “Fawlty Towers” on BBC Two. Bobby slept under the stairs, and they could hear his little puppy snores from where they sat.

Tom had stripped down to his own t-shirt and boxers, his bare feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him. He finished his toast first, slipping an arm around Carmen as she chewed and then swallowed her last bite.

“It’s going to happen like this,” he said, then pressed his lips to her temple.

“What’s going to happen like this?” Carmen reached for his hand.

“One day we’ll be going about our business. Off to work, home for supper. Up to bed. I take you in my arms and…” Tom nodded. “You’re pregnant.”

“Just like that?” Carmen asked, quietly.

“Maybe not exactly. Perhaps it will be first thing in the morning, when I wake up and look at you and realize that I must have you right then. Or some afternoon when we’re bored and there’s nothing good on telly so we just shag right here on the sofa.”

“Why couldn’t it be somewhere romantic?” Carmen mused.

“Like where?” Tom smirked. “An elaborately decorated suite at The Rosewood, perhaps? The back of a limousine?”

“Been there, done that,” Carmen retorted with a grin. “I like this game.” She snuggled into him. “Tell me more.”

“My current favorite scenario is the one where we’re cross with each other, and we go the entire day without speaking. But as soon as the day ends, and you come home from work, you take me by the hand, lead me upstairs, and have your way with me.”

“By way of apology?” Carmen asked.

“You’d rather be wrong than be without me.” Tom couldn’t resist laughing.

Carmen lightly slapped his chest. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sporty.”

“We’re not just…” Tom breathed in, then out. “We’re not just letting nature do its thing, are we?”

Carmen shut her eyes and snuggled into him further. “No,” she admitted. “We can’t be casual about this.”

“It’s like you told me last weekend,” said Tom. “You want to have a baby.”

Carmen kissed his jaw, then said: “I want to have your baby.”

“I want you to.” Tom squeezed his eyes shut and held her tight. “I don’t want anybody else.”

Carmen gasped. Tom was good at that, taking her breath away with words that seemed so simple, a sentiment that was elegant in its simplicity and spare. Nothing showy. He just gave word to all of his feelings, the entirety of his love. Because it was the truth.

Carmen rearranged herself so now it was she who had her arms draped around him. She brought her hands up sos he could rub her thumbs idly along his cheekbones.

The color of Tom’s eyes changed as he watched her face, shifting from blue to green then back to blue. Her own eyes remained dark and inquisitive as she continued her beloved inspection.

“We have matching spots, you and I.” Carmen indicated a small blemish on the side of his chin, barely visible under his beard. “Though I reckon yours was not caused by going off birth control pills.”

Tom shrugged. “Maybe it’s a sympathy spot,” he said. “Indicative of hormonal upheaval common to sympathetic pregnancy.”

“How can you be sympathetically pregnant when I’m not even pregnant yet?”

“We don’t know that you aren’t,” Tom remarked.

“Tom…” Carmen murmured.

“Maybe you are.” Tom peeked down at her belly. “Hello? Is anybody in there?”

“Dork,” she said, but sweetly. “It’s only been a week since I went off the pill.”

“You’re going to see your GP, yes?’ When Carmen nodded, Tom spoke again. “When?”

“Day before my birthday, actually,” she said.

“So that’s seven weeks,” Tom pointed out.

“Seven weeks to get me pregnant?” Carmen sighed. “I know we’re not being casual about this but dude…”

“Seven weeks,” Tom interrupted her with a kiss, letting his lips linger at the corner of her mouth. “To practice.”

“Practice?” Carmen giggled. “I dunno, Cambridge, I think we’re pretty good at it already.”

Still laughing, she tried to squirm out of Tom’s grasp. She succeeded only in turning, planting her feet on the floor, before Tom wrapped his arms and pulled her back into his lap. He was quick, nibbling and kissing her back through the skimpy fabric of her his _their_ shirt, hands clenching around her hips and then her belly.

Carmen closed her eyes, having just committed to memory where they were. She had been doing this for a while, thinking about where they were every time they had sex. Went to bed. Fooled around. Fucked. Made love. While Tom may have imagined scenarios for future assignations, she thought about their past encounters.

The limousine floor. A hotel shower. King size beds in hotel suites on three continents. Her old apartment back in Chicago. Many times on the telephone. A temporary flat that she had taken, and then back at home.

And there had been so many close calls. Many hurried walks from the tube, the short walk seemingly stretched out the more they were gripped by their own desire, that nearly ended with them bolting into an obliging hedge. The toilets at a karaoke bar in Kensington before they were banned from it. Pressed up against the shelves in the back of some of the city’s finest independent bookstores.

Recently they’d been doing it exclusively at home.

(Except for that one time at her office. And his dressing room after a performance.)

But home. Always home. In bed. On the sofa. The garage. The garden. The kitchen. The bathroom, though only in the shower and not in the tub.

All done out of love or, in those early days before they realized they were in love, out of something more than just liking one another.

Carmen fell out of her reverie, her eyes opening again, when she felt Tom’s lips against her bare skin. The back of her shirt having been pushed up, he nuzzled her back. Tickled her with his beard while his wandering hands were caressing her breasts. His nimble fingers teased her nipples to stiffness. Tom’s hold on her was firm she still had room enough to rock against him, rub her thighs as the heat between her legs intensified.

Grabbing his hands, she clasped them in her own so she could kiss them. But only for a moment, releasing them then guiding them back to her hips so Tom could push her underpants down far enough that she could ease them off. She leaned forward and out, his moans of pleasure muffled when she pulled her shirt over her head.

Completely undressed, naked, Carmen didn’t feel vulnerable but powerful. She was what Tom wanted, but he couldn’t have her yet. Not while he was frustratingly still dressed. But not for long, not when she could turn around, sit astride his lap, and yank his shirt off. She moved, lying back while Tom lifted his hips off the sofa and kicked off his boxers before coming to rest on top of her.

He looked at her, and she at him. The ache for him, for him to be inside her, did not subside just because they had stilled. When they opened their mouths to speak at the same time, they laughed.

“You first, Button,” Tom murmured. He leaned in to nuzzle her cheek.

“What were you going to say?” She asked.

“Only that I love you,” said Tom.

“Oh,” she said, her face warming.

“What were you going to say.”

She kissed him upon the forehead. “Only that… this is so stupid.”

“Tell me,” he said, a little urgently.

“If I had known you were the guy I was going to have children with,” she said, her tone loving and sweet. “I wouldn’t have slapped you the first time we had sex.”

“Brat!” Tom laughed, his eyes bright and happy. He just looked so _happy_ , even as he leaned in to nip at her jaw.

Carmen began to defend her statement, but was cut off by Tom kissing her. This kiss was open mouthed, and he took his time. Just flicking inside with his tongue. He held himself up, hands planted on either side of her, far enough that he wasn’t heavy on top of her but close enough that he felt the heat radiating from her body.

The longer he kissed her, the closer he got, the more deeply he tasted, Tom’s kisses became less tender. If she turned to the side, just a little, just to tease him, he followed. And so she stopped, answering his insistence with agreeance. She opened up by spreading her legs, letting them rest on the backs of his so he could rest completely upon her.

Tom pressed his face against the crook of her neck, occasionally pressing his lips to the warm skin while she ran her fingers through his hair. Traced faint lines down from the nape of his neck along the slope of his shoulders.

She nudged him, first with a swivel of her hip, and then with her hands, and then they were lying on their sides. Facing each other, scant distance between them, and then Carmen quickly licked her palm before taking him in hand. Her touch was soft but firm, the shaft growing fuller and longer under her careful ministrations. She watched him, how his grew darker and felt heavier. She squeezed him gently, watching his face for that quick intake of excited breath when she brushed her thumb just under the head. It delighted her.

“You’re so beautiful, Tom,” she told him, then closed her eyes and kissed him.

“Come,” he replied.

Tom lay back, tossing cushions out of the way so there was nothing that could come between them. He watched her, eyelids heavy and mouth panting, straddle him. She had released his cock so now it stood, hard and ready, against his flat stomach. Instead of reaching for him, Carmen instead lowered herself so she could grind against him.

When she shivered from pleasure, so did Tom. Her sex was hot and wet against him, his cock twitching and aching to be inside her. He said nothing but did roll his hips when he could. The friction provided some relief, even while it stoked his lust. Carmen went up a little on her knees, reached for him once more and slowly lowered herself onto him. Tom held his breath, and watched her. Whatever tension he had observed in her face was now gone.

Carmen rocked, barely moving because she loved that feeling of being so full with him inside. Hardly making a sound and then a loud gasp when he rolled his hips. He managed to snap his hips and when she cried out Tom reached for her. Slipping a hand between her legs, he found her clit and circled it gently with his fingers.

Or rather, her own rocking keeping them in touch. His hand remained while she moved faster and harder, and then she was lifting up along his cock before easing back down. Never completely releasing him, refusing to let go.

She was on the verge of falling back, but Tom needed her closer still. He reached for her hands and guided her down until she was wrapped around him. Her breath was hot against his chest and now it was Tom’s turn to rock. With both hands he held her close and tight, fingers digging into the supple flesh of her hips and then her ass. He thrust up, pumped against.

She was too heavy, too close for him to withdraw completely. Which was as he wanted it, as he desired her. And then he was moving her as well. Helping her to lift her ass before rolling her hips down and into him.

The sharp slapping noise of their bodies as they made brisk, hard contact — soft belly against taut abdomen, with so much body heat between them that there was sweat where they touched so it was everywhere — put Tom into a trance. Soft and smooth and slick. That’s what she was. Carmen with her warm thighs and hot, slick cunt, moaning and whispering _“More”_ and _“Yes”_ and _“Tom”_.

He could only grunt, gnash his teeth in frustration because he was so close to coming. Just a little longer, a little harder. Faster and faster, and all of a sudden Carmen was whining, pleading with him. Tightening around him because she wanted. Not just more but all of him.

Tom saw her, how her body was made to fit with his and how it responded with joy while he endeavored to pleasure her.

Tom heard her, how she said endlessly and freely that she loved him and wanted him and believed in him.

Tom tasted her, how she could be so sweet when he kissed her lips and so earthy and rich when he teased between her legs with his tongue.

Tom smelled her, orange blossoms and gin and cake frosting and the sharp tang of vinegar. The cold air of night and wet grass after rain and the stale air of airport lounges. Scents that kept him close to her.

Tom touched her, and he was home.

She was there, almost, and if he could just keep going, slip his hand between them, touch her clit again. She arched her back, and it was all he could do to hold her close. Even as she writhed and screamed, because when he came after a few short and final thrusts, the shared climax seemed to pitch and roll and shift between them. Waves and waves, shocks that subsided only to leave them spent and whimpering on the sofa.

“Button,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. When Carmen lifted her head, he craned his head and managed a kiss. But he made no move to withdraw, even as he could feel his erection going away.

“Baby,” she sighed.

“What, love?”

Carmen shook her head. “Birthday sex, and you did most of the work.”

“It’s not work.” Tom’s yawn turned into a warm chuckle.

“It _was_ work,” Carmen said. “We’re trying to have a baby here.”

“But did it feel good?” Tom laughed when Carmen blushed. “Was it fun?”

“Yes, Tom,” she admitted. “Even after all these years.”

“It was fun, and it felt good,” Tom declared. “Therefore it wasn’t work.”

“Then what was it then?’ Carmen wondered, already knowing what he would say.

“That was love,” Tom said. “Nothing but love.”


End file.
